


I Want To Be Wherever You Are

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [45]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anniversary, F/F, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor wants to treat Clara to a special anniversary trip, which is somewhat difficult when you’re over two millennia old, and you’ve got banning orders from half the romantic spots in the universe (only some of which are unjustified), or you’ve already used them to impress other people. Desperate for ideas, she reaches out to friends both old and new, and tries to cobble together a plan…
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan & Graham O'Brien & Ryan Sinclair, Thirteenth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Take Me To The Stars [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1139201
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	I Want To Be Wherever You Are

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt:
> 
> _Thirteen’s trying to think of a special place to take Clara for an anniversary of sorts, and decides to take suggestions from the fam and/or her former companions._

“Right,” the Doctor looks around Graham’s front room at the assembled team, with one notable omission, then says in an oddly formal tone: “You might be wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today.”

“Not really, Doc,” Graham admits. “We do this every week, remember? It’s sort of our thing.”

“Yeah, but there’s usually Clara,” Yaz notes, looking around them with bright curiosity and a degree of mistrust, as though Clara might have concealed herself behind the sofa or be crouching under the coffee table. “Where is she?”

“That’s sort of what this is about,” the Doctor confesses. “It’s-”

“Oh, my god,” Ryan’s eyes go wide with horror. “Have you broken up? Shit, you have, haven’t you? Is she really mad at you? Who ended it? What happened?”

“We haven’t broken up,” the Doctor assures him, holding her hands up to cut him off mid-flow. “Far from it, actually-”

“Doc, you’re not…” it’s Graham’s turn to look amazed now, and he actually looks rather misty-eyed. “Are you going to…”

“What?” the Doctor frowns, not understanding why he looks so strangely emotional.

“You know…” Graham tips her a wink. “Get down on one knee, with a ring and everything? Is that why we’re here? To help you pick a ring?”

“No,” the Doctor says firmly, shaking her head at once. “I mean, that’s not to say… never say never, and all, but at the moment, it’s just not the right time to propose; I think she’d be more shocked than anything, and I’m not sure how she feels about marriage. It’s a bit of an outdated heteronormative institution; Clara might be really opposed to it, and she might not want to be legally entwined with me – then again, legality is relative to your geo-temporal location, but then there’d be the problem of whether it would be recognised across the galaxy, especially over in the Tovernian System-”

“Doctor,” Yaz interjects patiently. “You’re rambling. Why are we here, and where’s Clara?”

“Oh, right,” the Doctor grimaces, returning to the topic at hand. “Well, it’s our anniversary next week.”

“How can you have an anniversary?” Graham enquires. “I mean, no offence, but the amount of time travel you do… what do you measure by? How do you know it’s next week? It might’ve been two weeks ago. It might be both. Schrodinger’s anniversary.”

“We… it’s complicated.”

“Nah, it’s a fair point,” Ryan chips in. “How do you keep track of these things?”

“The TARDIS counts.”

“Yeah, but does the TARDIS count in Earth-units?” Yaz frowns as she asks her question, then adds: “And if so… why?”

“Easiest common unit of time in the universe,” the Doctor lets out a long breath. “Look, are you going to let me ask my question, or not?”

“Says the person who just went off on a tangent about marriage,” Graham mutters, but the Doctor ignores him as Yaz and Ryan nod.

“Right,” the Doctor takes a deep breath. “What do I do for our anniversary?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you do’?” Yaz looks confused, as though the question is impossibly stupid. “You celebrate it.”

“Well, yeah,” the Doctor rolls her eyes; she’d got that far. “But how? I mean there’s some races who celebrate their anniversaries by swapping heads; there’s some that exchange lavish and expensive gifts worth billions of currency units; there’s some that fight to the death and the victor gets a new partner.”

“Romantic,” Graham says under his breath.

“And I know humans are quite… you know, conventional, but I don’t know how conventional to go. What sort of things should I do? Do I get her a present? Do I take her for a meal? What if she hates the present? What if she hates the restaurant? What if she hates the food, or she’s allergic to it? What if she thinks I’m cheap? What if I do it wrong? What if-”

“Doctor,” Yaz interrupts in a firm voice, which is good, as the Doctor can feel her panic escalating in the same way that it had the previous evening, when she’d ended up just deciding to ask the best actual humans she knew. “I think you’re overthinking this. Anything you do, she’ll love. Get her something nice, like… I don’t know, chocolates and jewellery, and go for a meal somewhere nice.”

“What counts as nice?”

“I dunno,” Yaz chances: “There’s that Indian place on the high street near me, the Taj Mahal; that’s pretty fancy.”

“Or you could go somewhere in London,” Graham suggests. “With a view, at dusk? Scenic.”

“London’s a bit…” the Doctor gestures vaguely. “Too much risk of being seen.”

“I mean, I don’t think she’s going to mind where you go, Doc,” Ryan notes. “Regardless of where it is – Nando’s, McDonald’s, some fancy place in London that I could never afford – what’s going to matter is that she’s with you, yeah? So don’t worry too much. Pick somewhere you’d both like.”

“Right,” the Doctor says in a high, panicked voice. “Right. Good. OK. I can… I can do that.”

* * *

She brainstorms for forty-eight hours solidly, occasionally breaking off to google this or that cuisine, and then getting lost down internet rabbit holes on conspiracy theories about the Earth being flat and the moon landings being fake (she snorts at the first, but has to admit the second idea has a point). She’s narrowed the sort of food down to five options based on Things That Clara Has Said Recently, and she’s narrowed the location down based on several books she’s seen on Clara’s bedside table, arranged in an immaculate pile in a way that’s probably intended to serve as a hint. Possibly. It’s Clara, so it’s anyone’s guess.

The problem is, finding a Mexican restaurant in the Maldives is proving rather difficult. Or a French one. Or an Italian one. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of Clara’s preferred cuisine alongside any convenient sandy beaches, and she thinks for one mad moment about going back in time and founding a really excellent Mexican restaurant by the sea, before realising that this would involve knowledge of Mexican cuisine and the ability to cook, as well as the patience to build a business, and abandons the idea.

Leaning back in her chair, she wonders where she’s going wrong, and tries to think of someone she could ask for advice. The team are already sick of the subject; they’ve been fielding questions from her via WhatsApp for several days now and they’re getting fed up… not unreasonably. Scrolling through her phone for inspiration or the number of a married friend, she finally locates a promising contact, dials their number and listens to the line ring, skimming through the menu of the restaurant Yaz had originally recommended as she does so. Several of the dishes sound appealing, but she wonders whether Sheffield might be a bit mundane for their anniversary. Not that she’s got anything against the place; she just wants somewhere a little special.

“Doctor!” a voice on the other end of the line enthuses. “Long time, no speak. How are you?”

“Hi, Martha,” the Doctor says in a rush, and from the other end of the line, there’s the sound of something being dropped. “I need to-”

“Shut up!” Martha enthuses, her voice awed. “Are you kidding me? You’re not actually-”

“What?”

“You’re the Doctor, yeah? Not a companion or friend or some random wandering around the TARDIS?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re finally a woman!” Martha lets out a triumphant whoop. “You took your bloody time; I was starting to think you’d be stuck in Testosterone Central forever. Mickey owes me a fiver… he’s going to be absolutely livid; he was betting it’d take loads longer than this…”

“How-”

“Oh, please; like I don’t read the files at work. Missy managed the upgrade; I’m surprised it took you this long. Still, I’ll be claiming my fiver, and I get bragging rights, so I can’t complain. What do you need? Is everything alright, yeah? Is that why you’re phoning – is it a recent thing? Do you need someone to take you bra shopping? Because I can do that, just let me sort out childcare first.”

“Oh,” the Doctor blinks hard, disconcerted and oddly touched by Martha’s offer of help. “No, urm… it’s about… well, it’s my anniversary coming up, and-”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? I’m guessing you mean a romantic anniversary, and not the anniversary of… I don’t know, conquering Jupiter or something.”

“Yes, I mean a romantic anniversary. I’m just… I’m stuck. I’m all out of ideas. And _you’re_ married, successfully and happily, and I just wondered how you choose… you know. Somewhere nice to go. What to do. All that.”

“Well,” Martha clicks her tongue, going silent for several seconds as she thinks. “Ignoring the deluge of information you’ve just hinted at – annoying, by the way, and I want more details later on – it’s usually somewhere local, because we’ve got to get a babysitter, and it’s usually somewhere we both like… there’s no point me dragging Mickey to a Thai place, he can’t stand the stuff; and odds of me going to the pub to watch the footie are also slim to none. So it’s usually a place we’ve been before, but that’s fine, because we know the food will be decent.”

“Right,” the Doctor hums, scribbling down these words of advice on the back of the menu for the Taj Mahal. “Cheers. I’ll take that on-”

“Don’t even think about hanging up on me. Who are they? What’s their name? Tell me everything.”

The Doctor smiles, leans back in her chair, and wonders where to begin.

* * *

“Jack?” the Doctor asks into the silence on the line, hoping he hasn’t been disconnected and that she hasn’t caught him at a bad time – she’d managed to keep catching him post-coitally for several years, and the ramifications became rather irksome to deal with; she’d started an entire room dedicated to the hate mail from his so-called spurned lovers, and a separate one for his notes of gratitude. “Jack? Hello? Have you changed your number?”

“No, sorry,” Jack says with amazement, and she could tell from his tone that he was beaming. “I’m just… right, so not satisfied with becoming a woman, you’re telling me you now have a girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Does River know?”

“Also yes.”

“You’re a busy woman, Doctor,” he teases, letting out a low whistle. “A busy, busy woman. Is she cute?”

“Of course.”

“Is she gorgeous? Is she smart? Is she cheeky?”

“What do you think?”

“Can I meet her?”

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor says pleasantly, ignoring Jack’s sounds of complaint. “You’d flirt with her shamelessly.”

“It’s obligatory, ma’am,” he shoots back, and she imagines him saluting the – hopefully empty – room at his end of the line. “I’d flirt with you shamelessly too; there’s no need to feel left out. I’m an equal opportunities man; I like to make all my ladies feel special. And men. And non-binary associates. It’s all about the equal ops, these days.”

“I bet you do,” the Doctor laughs, caught between fondness and exasperation. “Look, I just need your advice about our anniversary meal-”

“You want somewhere gorgeous,” Jack counsels, his tone oddly grave. “Somewhere really, really stunning; you know, the food has to be good, that’s a given, but you want somewhere with a view that’ll blow her away. I took Ianto to this little place in London that overlooks the city itself; when the sun set, it was like watching the buildings catch fire… everything went this beautiful shade of amber and shone and shone. Absolutely magical; can’t recommend enough. And the sous chef… he could do this amazing thing with his-”

“London’s out.”

“That’s too bad,” he says wistfully, and she wonders how long it’ll take him to text the sous chef after she hangs up. “What about…” he sucks his teeth for a moment. “What about Darillium? I hear it’s meant to be-”

“Took the wife. Could be a touchy subject if I take the girlfriend as well.”

“Ah. Well, there’s a nice little Italian place in Cardiff, overlooking the Bay… you could drop in and visit us when you stop by. And I’ve heard that the chef is a rogue Vinvocci… two birds with one-”

“Are you trying to con me into dealing with a problem for you?”

“Maybe,” he wheedles, then adds in a faux-stung voice: “Am I so transparent?”

“Yes. So transparent you’re basically a window.”

“What if I told you that only an inimitable Time Lord such as yourself could possibly-”

“Still no, Jack.”

“Well, I’ll text over the coordinates just in case. And there’s a gorgeous little place I know in Paris, actually… clothes strictly optional…”

* * *

_My dearest Doctor_

_So much news in such a short letter! It was wonderful to hear from you, and wonderful to hear that you have regenerated into a more delicate female form. I should look forward to meeting it sometime; would 12 noon on the 3 rd June 1895 suit? If yes, send word at once; if no, I should like to add that you owe me following the last incident, particularly after leaving us to deal with Scotland Yard._

_In response to your most pressing concern, I would say that Miss Oswald would not be the sort of person to be overly concerned with the venue of your choosing for such a special occasion; instead, her attention will be on you and your comportment, so choose wisely in this regard – you do not wish to make a fool of yourself, or appear lacking in knowledge. The food is of tangential importance; while expensive and refined culinary dishes are often impressive, the mess or disappointment entailed in eating them often leads of a lack of fulfilment – upon treating Jenny to a fine lobster supper last month, she confessed upon the way home – completely covered in the juices of the poor crustacean – that she remained quite hungry, and so supped on some hot chestnuts as we walked through London’s dour streets. A whole shilling wasted!_

_Furthermore, I would encourage you to choose somewhere that is beautiful but not distractingly so, for your fine companion will wish to gaze at you quite as much as at any view. Perhaps somewhere that is familiar but lends a new point of view to something you are accustomed to seeing from one angle? Or somewhere that you are happy to return to at a later date, unencumbered by the trappings of celebrating your romantic union, for Clara will surely want to enjoy both the venue and yourself, and she cannot do both at once._

_I reiterate the importance of choosing food that is not overly caught up in itself, but is nourishing and enjoyable; and remember that the most important aspect of the time spent together is precisely that – the time together. You are celebrating yourselves and your blessed union, so do not allow yourselves to be distracted by the trappings of expectations or society; do not turn your attention to the world around you and lose sight of each other. Remember this, and you shall have many years of happiness together._

_I wish you both every happiness, and know you will make the right choice._

_Please RSVP about the 3 rd at your earliest convenience._

_With best wishes_

_Vastra_

* * *

“So, not that I’m complaining,” Clara hums, leaning back on her elbows and admiring the view through her sunglasses. “But I’m dying to know how on earth you settled on this for our anniversary.”

They’re ensconced on a large picnic blanket in the Jardins du Trocadéro, directly across the river from the Eiffel Tower, watching the sun set with a large box of McNuggets resting between them. As Clara turns her attention to the Doctor, the Time Lady feels a flush of embarrassment and dips a nugget into a pot of ketchup, shoving it in her mouth and chewing as she tops up Clara’s plastic flute of Coke with a flourish.

“It’s a long story,” she mumbles with her mouth full, swallowing thickly and adding: “Is it alright?”

“What, this?” Clara gestures around them expansively with her free hand. “Honestly? It’s perfect. Weird, but perfect.”

“Well,” the Doctor takes a sip of her drink, shivering as the bubbles rush straight to her head. “Strictly speaking the food was Ryan’s idea… I think it was a joke, but everyone said to pick food that we both liked and that wasn’t pretentious or silly. It’s like these fancy restaurants – they’re all around here, actually; I rejected several because they insisted I wear a dress, and that’s a hard nope – that do this fancy, pretentious food… not to mention the daft portion sizes! You know, a main course that was two pieces of meat and a single potato. Absolute nonsense. I didn’t want to take you somewhere like that, where you’d just be hungry after. And then everyone said to pick somewhere beautiful but not too beautiful, because… because…”

“Because?”

“You’d probably want to stare at me as much as the view,” the Doctor mumbles, shoving another nugget in her mouth as her cheeks turn maroon. She’s unaccustomed to acknowledging this fact; that Clara might enjoy looking at her. It makes her feel strangely vulnerable as Clara rests her face on her hands and surveys her with a curious expression.

“Sometimes,” Clara muses. “You’re very sweet. And when you say everyone…”

The Doctor swallows before answering with trepidation, wondering if the confession will anger Clara: “I asked a few people for their input.”

“Who’s ‘a few people’?”

“Yaz. Ryan. Graham. Martha and Mickey. Jack. Vastra and Jenny. I wanted everything to be perfect. I sort of did a whip-round survey of our friends, especially the married ones or the ones that… you know, have experience of this sort of thing.”

Clara stares at her for a moment with an unreadable expression.

“What?” the Doctor asks, but Clara only shakes her head. “ _What_?”

“You’re just…” she leans over and kisses the Doctor gently. “You’re very sweet sometimes, you know that?”


End file.
